I am That Mom
To make matters worse, I forgot to pack her a pillow. Again, the only child whose mother forgot to pack her a pillow. Somewhere to rest her pretty head. I feel kind of bad about this one, but in my defense, it wasn't on the damn list they sent home. I kind of thought they would use rocks or ball up their dirty clothes, like Jack and Ennis did on Brokeback.
But to really paint a dork's bull's eye on my daughter's forehead, I packed her a nightgown. Gasp, the horror. How could I have been so insensitive? Because, as I've just learned, nightgowns are for geeks. Two piece jammies are the way to be hip. As my daughter was safely cocooned in her homemade nightgown, sewn with love by her grandma, she was sweltering from heat in her brand new sleeping bag, (which was on top of a pile of lumpy rocks.)
As she complained about this, I asked her why she just didn't sleep on top of her sleeping bag. Then she wouldn't be so hot, nor so uncomfortable from the rocks. (Apparently someone had beaten me with a stupid stick before I asked that question.)
My daughter looked at me like I grew devil horns out of my forehead and told me (in a patronizing, "What-Are-You-Stupid?" voice) it was impossible to sleep on top of her bag because then her nightgown might ride up and her ass would be hanging out for all the
So, yes, I am that mother. The type of mother to send her kid to sleep on a bed of rocks while sweltering to death inside a big ole sleeping bag, while wearing an ugly, fleece nightgown and having to use a pile of pebbles to cushion her head. Yes, I am that mother.
Too damn bad. It could have been worse.
I could have went along on the trip. Then she'd really have something to complain about.